"I needed to talk to you for—"
"I- we have a mission, Aryan," Renshu interrupted sharply. "I'm making plans."
The words cut more than I expected.
They were said in front of the others, too, casual, clipped, dismissive. I felt a flicker of humiliation rise in my chest, something hot and unwanted, so I did the only thing I could think of.
I adjusted my tone.
"It's about the poison," I said evenly. "It's time to soak the wood in boiling water. The earlier we begin, the better."
With that, I turned and left him standing with the other men, planning, I assumed. Though I couldn't help wondering what exactly they were planning so intensely. The path ahead was clear. There were no alternatives left to discuss.
We had just arrived at the Grand Canal.
It was decided that most of the wood would remain on our boat, since the boiling would take place there. As such, I would also be staying aboard the largest vessel, where there was enough space to manage the process safely. The largest vessel, where Renshu would also stay.
This was how Renshu explained it to the others.
He rarely justified his decisions. This time, he did.
Perhaps he cared now, about how it looked. About whether others thought he favored me or not.
I pushed the thought aside and focused on packing. There was no point dwelling on things I couldn't change. The only solution was for me to apologize, and yet every time I tried, he found a way to shut me out.
---
"So," Gao Ming said later, eyeing the pile of wood, "do we need to cut it into smaller pieces before boiling?"
"Yes, sir," I replied. "Each piece should be about the size of a small finger. That way, the wood can properly mix with the water."
"Then it seems I have work to do," he said with a nod. "You should rest, Aryan. There will be much to manage later on. You'll be needed day and night."
The others set to work immediately, axes rising and falling in steady rhythm. Even the sailors lent a hand as the boat began its journey down the canal.
Everyone worked.
Everyone except Renshu.
He stood off to the side, arms folded, watching, but never stepping in. It seemed he disliked taking orders from me, even indirect ones.
At night, we would be alone.
I told myself then I would speak to him. Surely he couldn't avoid me when there was no one else around.
"How long before your leg recovers fully?" Rong Xu asked, glancing at me.
I suspected the question came from observation more than concern. After all, while the others labored, I was left with little to do.
"My leg works well enough with crutches," I said. "But walking is still difficult. The knee aches constantly. I suppose the healing slowed because I kept moving when I shouldn't have."
"I see," he said thoughtfully. "I hope you recover soon. It doesn't help that you're still unwell. Rest now, it'll allow you to be more useful later. The journey to Shanxi will be harsh."
"Harsh?" I echoed.
"Extremely cold," he replied. "Northern China is unforgiving this time of year."
So my assumptions had been wrong.
If everyone insisted I rest, perhaps I should listen. I made my way toward the small cabin at the back of the boat.
And froze.
Renshu was already there, seated near the table.
"What—what are you doing here?" he demanded, irritation clear in his voice.
"Am I not allowed to be?" I asked, doing my best to remain calm.
"First tell me why you're here," he said.
"I was told to rest," I replied. "Considering my leg and the journey ahead."
He stared at me for a moment, jaw tight.
Then he turned and left without another word.
Fine, I told myself, lowering onto the mattress. Just fine.
---
I woke late at night with a dry throat.
Stepping outside the cabin, cool air brushed against my face. After so many days in Yunnan, the chill felt unfamiliar, almost comforting. A quiet relief after weeks of humidity and heat.
The moment didn't last.
I spotted him immediately.
"You took long enough," Renshu said flatly as he passed me. "Keep guard. I'll rest. And don't—don't enter the cabin."
He brushed past as though I weren't there.
I tried to speak, but my voice caught. He ignored it, so I raised it.
"Why do you keep avoiding me?" I asked. "I wanted to talk to you, yet—"
"Yet what?" he snapped. "I already told you how I feel. You barely care about me. You will not—not…"
His voice faltered. He turned away, searching for words he couldn't, or wouldn't, fiind.
I stayed silent, heart pounding. What did he want from me? Why couldn't he simply say it?
He moved to leave.
"What do you even want from me?" I called after him. "Just say it."
He stopped.
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, quietly, "It isn't something I want to tell you to do."
He glanced back, eyes unreadable.
"It's something you should want to do."
And then he walked away.
I stood there long after he disappeared into the dark, the weight of his words pressing down on me.
I hated myself for asking.
For hoping.
For believing clarity would come if I just tried harder.
Instead, I was left more confused than before, emptier somehow. As though I had reached for something and grasped only air.
Perhaps this conflict wasn't ending anytime soon.